Untrue
by Scarheart of DarkClan
Summary: Lies and Half Truths. That is all anyone knows about his life. His tale has remained untold because he is the forgotten half. But, this is the time for stories to be told and truths revealed.


**I've developed my own one-shot series that I'm calling _Unbiased_. If you've read _Unveiled_ you already understand the concept of the one-shots; to give a deeper look into countries lives. However, through Romano is getting the same analyzes as Belarus, they don't live in the same universe. **

**This is non-historical and has no connection to real events or the actual history of Southern Italy. Some of the ideas for scenes are derieved from whatever is on Youtube, but it doesn't go in order or follow the script exactly.**

**I have found several wonderful fics showing a deeper side of Romano and Spain, but I wanted to take it even deeper. Dive into the character's past to possibly not only discover Lovino but also his relationship with his brother. **

******For those of you who are sensitive, this is rated T for a reason. You will find some violence, strong language, and some sexual topics. This is meant for 13 and up whom I believe can handle the themes. If under that age, read with discretion.**

******Romano, our wonderful narrator, is also referred to as Lovino or Lovi. North Italy also goes by Feli. You will also dicover that Lovi has nicknames for about every country he meets.**

******Turkey, who appears later, is referred to as the Ottoman Empire. He is based somewhat on my own headcannon. **

******...**

******Now to prove that everything you know is_ UNTRUE_!**

* * *

"And I hereby degree that the Imperium Romanum is no more!"

And it was just like that, that the great and powerful Roman Empire vanished. There were no explosions, no loud noises, no nothing – well, it was nothing. Just him vanishing from the scene like he had never been there.

Now is when you begin to think that the narrator of this tale is high on some type of illegal substances. Well, I'm not on crack or pot or weed or meth or anything else you can think of. It's bad for you and too expensive.

I just know because I was there. It wasn't something that I wanted to watch, but my fratello had wanted to be there. I needed to be there to support him.

If you bastards are still wondering why I was there, the late Roman Empire was my father but he was more like a grandfather. And no, like many people believe, I don't hate him – or didn't hate him.

I hated what he expected of me, but I didn't hate him.

Maybe you don't get it; no one said you were smart. Maybe I should tell you bastards though I doubt you'll understand even after this tale is over.

* * *

"Papa," cried my fratello, wailing and flailing his arms everywhere. "I hurt my knee while playing in the garden. I need a kiss to make it better."

I put down my book, a very good book thank you very much, and looked at the spectacle.

Papa, as we were _instructed_ to call him, ran out of the kitchen in a very embarrassing apron. Grown nations should not wear anything adorned with "_My Pasta Noodle is under here_". I think I'd rather die than be seen wearing that thing.

Well, little Feli didn't seem to care because he collapsed into a bawling mess into Papa's arms. His arms wrapped around the apron, and he buried his head into Papa's chest. "It really, really, really, hurts a lot. Look at it!"

I couldn't see any marks on Feli's skin, but like always, his tears tugged at my heart. I love my little fratello, okay. Joining the huddled mass, I wrapped my arms around both Feli and Papa.

Papa bent down to kiss Feli's sore knee as I gave him a kiss on the forehead. He's my fratello, so I can do that.

"Rest Feli," I told him as he picked up his little head off Papa's chest. "I'm sure you'll feel better once you wake up. Then you can continue with your gardening."

"Do as your fratello says," added Papa, picking Feli up – which is a pretty hard task because he is (surprisingly) fifteen. "Just go take a little siesta. England's little faeries will heal you while you nap. Sleep well, mio nipote."

"Faeries," he said, laughing and crying at the same time. Putting my arms around his shoulder, I walked him upstairs, telling him about the tomatoes I had planted, and how we could make fresh spaghetti sauce and eat it all throughout the summer.

"Do you think England and Francia and Greecia will want some too?"

Tucking my fratello into his bed, I promised him that I would ask the aforementioned nations that had been captured by Papa. That is one reason that I loved my fratello; he was always thinking of others and trying (and succeeding) to be nice.

Me: being nice didn't come naturally. But I would ask the nations about the sauce because Feli had asked me, and I just couldn't let him down.

Kissing him on the forehead, I walked back down stairs intending to grab whatever Papa had been making, finish up that book of mine, and then ask our forced house mates.

"Sleep tight, my fratello," I whispered, softly closing his door.

Into the kitchen I went, scooping myself a bowl of soup that was sitting in front of the fireplace. I could see pieces of rice, and my stomach growled at the delicacy Papa had cooked up.

I kicked my heels up on the table and leaned back on the chair. Picking up my book, I flipped to the page I had been reading before Feli had …. (interrupted is such a negative word to associate with Feli) … dropped by. Putting my soup on the armrest, I was ready for a nice relaxing evening that I more than deserved.

However, just as I spooned my first bite, Papa walked in with England on his heels and motioned for me to pause. Highly suspicious behavior because Papa usually just started talking without waiting for anyone else to be ready.

"Romano," he said, sitting in the chair next to me. He seemed way calmer and a lot less bouncy than normal – more suspicious behavior. In fact, he was almost as tranquil as Germania always appeared.

So combine that with the other clues, and it was a dead give away. He wanted something from me.

"I have something very serious that I want to ask you."

I told you guys that was going to happen. Oh, that's right – I'm telling this story from memory, and everything has happened already. Big surprise that I know what happened. Aw well, let's continue the story.

"What is it," I snapped. Fratello wasn't here, so there was really no reason to be nice. Remember what I said about me not being a nice person; it took too much effort when I wasn't around Feli. "And why is England here with you?"

To my honor, I spoke the part about England softer. I had to keep myself in his good graces if I wanted to convince him to grant Feli's wishes. And England didn't relinquish his faeries to just anyone. Chigi! I'd also have to convince him to eat Feli's meals; with anyone else it would be easy, but the stupid _bloody_ bastard only liked his inedible 'diasters'.

Oh man, Papa had better not say anything to put me in a bad mood. If I snapped at Feli because of all of this, I just don't know. I motioned with my hands for him to continue on with whatever he was going to say.

"I have a favor to ask of you. It's for an awesome plan if I do say so myself."

"What makes you think I'll do it?"

"You're my grandson. Of course you'll go along with my scheme!"

Cue my cold voice and indifferent tone. Sometimes I think I had more intelligence than Papa. And yes, it sometimes annoyed me beyond measure. Hence another: "What makes you think I'll do it?"

"It has to do with Feli."

Yes, I really wanted to eat. There was delicious soup in front of me, yet I couldn't eat it. Don't let anyone ever tell you that Italians don't like their food; we love all different types. But when confronted with something dealing with Feli, I would easily give up my food.

I'm a protective and caring older brother- well, I've always assumed I was older. So, that's why I had to give Papa time to speak.

"Okay," I relented after my inner mental battle, "explain this plan of yours that somehow evolves me." I knocked my spoon against the table impatiently.

That seemed to have been the magic phrase because words just keep spilling out of Papa's mouth. Between me and England, we were able to compile the whole story and it goes a little bit like this; Rome's words and England's translation, not mine.

"Before you even existed and this land was underdeveloped, I had a beautiful wife known only to me as Bellissima. Life was simple, and I only had the seafaring people of the port cities and the small villages to watch out for. Then she became pregnant and everything changed.

"You see, back then, we were discovering the limits of being a country. It was not awesome to fight someone physically and have no wounds but then wake up shaking with a fever because of a pirate attack you had no control over.

"However, we did already know that nations could have children because of all of Britannica's little babies."

Here, I stop the story to recall how normally calm England flipped his little lid and nearly blasted Papa's head off. Apparently he thought his mother had been called a whore. Well, there's the English for you.

Before the story is continued, you have to remember my first (unless you happened to learn something without me meaning to teach you) important lesson: England is a mental case. He cursed out all his brothers and proceeded to then relax and wait for Papa to continue. I see multiple personality disorder in his future.

Okay, commence story telling by a fuckin' amazing narrator (me, not Papa who is telling the next part):

_(side note: parentheses are really great.)_

"When you two were born, I had to choose which of you would inherit this land should it ever cease to be the Roman Empire. It is unusual – or so we rightfully thought - for twins to be born as nations, and I had no clue what kind of people the two of you would grow into. I know, big problem for me.

"As you can guess because I'm telling you this, I choose your fratello over you. He was just much quieter when he was born whereas you were all screamy and stuff. Thought, you know, he'd grow to be old and wise and quiet and basically everything he isn't. It did take me a while to realize, but Feli isn't fit to the task of having to run a country or landmass. But I can't change that it is going to be him.

"That is were my awesome plan, England, and you come in. Mr. Magic Man here knows a spell that will capture all the pain Feli feels and give it to you. That way when he goes off to war, he won't be suffering from injuries and the general weight of carrying a country. You'll be protecting him.

"Please say yes, Romano. We both know that Feli can't survive in the real world. Help out your little fratello. I know how much you care about him."

And right on cue came the puppy dog eyes that are the exact amber of Feli's. Time to think.

Are you surprised again, I didn't interrupt. Well actually, I stated my opinion about every sentence or so because you just can't let Papa ramble on. You just don't let it happen. But I can cut that out because I ended up in the same situation.

I really wanted to help my fratello. I love him more than I love myself. But feeling all his pain sounds... well, painful. I'm not a coward, but no sane person would purposely put themselves in pain.

Okay, you guys guessed. I'm not sane (and I'm a coward, but we address that point later.)

"What is England going to do to me?"

"You mean you'll do it, Romano," cried Papa, throwing his arms around me. "I can't thank you enough. You don't know how happy I feel. England is just going to do some abracadabra and stuff. You just have to hold still."

When Papa started to kiss my cheeks, I pushed him away. However, as soon as he was away, England shoved a piece of leather in my face. "To bite down on," he said. "I don't make a habit of lying, and this whole process hurts like a bitch. Ireland screamed like a dying solider when I preformed this on him."

I seriously thought about changing my mind, but then I remembered Feli all curled up on his bed. He bawled his eyes out over a questionable injury : questionable in the fact that if something you couldn't see counted as a scratch. He would never make it through a war. Papa was one of the toughest people I knew – he'd be surprised I said that - and sometimes he would cry himself to sleep from the pain of all his wounds. Feli couldn't deal with that, so I would.

Biting the leather beneath my teeth, I braced myself for a sudden onslaught of whatever. My fingernails curled into my legs so maybe the pin pricks would take my mind of the bigger one sure to come.

However, the pain didn't come in a flash as I would have preferred. It came like a slow storm that could tare up the coastline in a span of several months.

First it was a pounding in my head that refused to go away. Then it was a searing pain in my back like it was breaking over and over again. Hot irons felt like they were being pressed against my arms, legs, and any available flesh. Sharp teeth bit into my tongue. My chest was collapsing in on itself.

And let me tell you, it isn't true that you pass out from pain. You just lay there with all your nerves gone haywire and the pain eating you alive. And you stay conscious.

Just before I began to curse Papa and England with all my soul, the feeling started to ebb away. Just as slowly as it had attacked, it all disappeared. All the pain went away except a gentle throbbing in my knee.

"Feli's pain," I gasped, while clutching my knee. I didn't hurt, but it was just shocking to feel something that wasn't my own. I hadn't bumped my knee except it still hurt.

"My boy," cried Papa, spinning me around. My head was ready to split and I nearly vomited on Papa's shirt. We're being truthful, right – I really did vomit: it was red. "I'll tell Feli about it right now."

I grabbed his arm; well, I tried to grab his arm, but my whole balancing thing was still a little off, and I ended up with my face in the floor. It was all stone and wood in the Italian Palazzo because no genius had invented carpet yet; hurt like hell.

"Don't tell him."

"What?" cried Papa, heaving me up off the floor. "You don't want me to tell Feli. But, but..."

He floundered about for awhile. I'll leave that out because it was pretty annoying, and I hate to lose all my listeners – or readers. He had _a lot_ of trouble understanding the concept of secrecy. We ended up with me spitting out: "I really don't want him to know. It will either cause him to view himself as incredibly weak and lose all confidence or become foolhardy and risk serious injury because I'll be the one suffering. "

There we go; that bastard forced me to say every doubt I had about my fratello. Feli would have been heart-broken over that. Funny how I thought that when I wanted to keep the secret from him the in the first place.

I know you're screaming 'hypocrite' at me, but they didn't really have a word for that in this time period. It was just what everyone was. So calm your tits and let's get back to a mentally incapacitated Papa.

"Oh," he breathed out, now understanding the complex concept of understanding what goes on in my head. It is complex, believe me. "I guess only you and England will know then. It is such a great secret too."

Now it was my turn to be confused. "Papa, what are you talking about? You know about this too."

"It's time for me to go," he said. This is the most serious I've ever seen him – ever.; even more than during story time. "I've got to leave before the Nation Police come to fetch me. I can feel the end coming, Romano. I've never felt it stronger than I do now."

He vanished in a poof of red smoke. For a second, I could make out his silhouette staring at me. His lips were moving but, I couldn't exactly make out what he saying. It looked like, "Beware the Ides of March," but those times had come and gone.

Papa had vanished and that was that. I collapsed back onto the ground. He placed a huge responsibility on me and then just left. Did he care for me or was I just a way for him to watch out for Feli when he was gone?

What the fuck was Papa thinking, that bastard!

Anger doesn't mix well with throbbing and ever-present pain; all in all, I was a mess. I wasn't a complete sobbing girl, but any observer would think I was. That's why you don't ask England who I had forgotten was still in the room and had observed the whole thing. Just don't ask him.

"Viscao jokhulbick altintong gioublings teo koiun abracadabra wisliken wislik goiuner."

Garble. Nonsense. Ramblings of a certified nutcase. No, shit! It was a fuckin' spell-curse-thingy.

Now that Papa was gone, England must have viewed himself as freed from the power of the Italians. There was really nothing I could do for I no longer represented the Italian Peninsula politically; this was now Feli's job except the fact that he was sleeping, thought Papa was still here – for he was gone, not dead – and had no clue that he was the embodiment of the land.

So, as you have all seen, I have wonderful quick thinking and common sense. Of course I go to tackle England because, you know, massive intelligence in this head of mine.

Imagine my surprise when my legs didn't stretch nearly as far as I wanted them to, and I ended up on my face for the third time. My whole body seemed to have shrunken and feeling my checks, regained my baby fat. England must have aged me backwards.

I would've leaped at him again except I was busy vomiting up blood on the carpet. It still dribbled out of my mouth as I screamed.

"You bastard," I shouted at him, determined to show him that I wasn't fully young. Cursing seemed to be the only reason I could think of to show England that he hadn't changed my memories. "What the hell did you do to me? Dammit! I demand some answer, you magic bastard!"

Just a question: what is with people disappearing in flashes of multicolored lights? England did the same thing as Papa. Probably going back to his stupid little island in the middle of the _bloody_ ocean. I'd never make it there in this body.

So instead of succumbing to the childish instincts to ball my eyes out, I wiped my blood vomit on my sleeve and walked upstairs to see what had become of Feli. It was more of a waddle now that I look back, but you can blame that to the fact my legs were as short as my calfs had been previously.

Feli was in his bed all curled up if nothing had happened. Except he was as tiny as I was, and he had a piece of hair sticking up so randomly. He looked too fragile to be the commander of the Italian Peninsula.

Touching that stray hair, I felt a tingling in my body that I had begun to associated with his feelings that were transmitted to me. Reaching up to my head, I felt a similar hair that gave a feeling much like the one I knew Feli was experiencing.

He must have felt it too because he softly stirred him his sleep.

Jumping onto the bed because I was too tiny to easily slide onto it, I sat next to him. "Feli," I whispered to him, petting his hair. "Feli, wake up. It's snack time."

"Papa," he said, his eyes still screw shut. "Have I overslept?"

"It's me," I whispered, "Romano. Papa is gone."

"What?"

That sure got him. His little body bolted up in bed, and I could feel his shock, hurt, and confusion. His emotions mixed with mine to the extent that I wasn't sure what I was feeling and what Feli was feeling.

"Papa's gone," I managed to breathe out. Swallowing blood and spit, I tried to comfort Feli (and myself in the long run). "He left so that we'll be safe. It was for our own good."

I hated lying to him, but the relief I felt coursing through my veins - Feli's relief - was wonderful. I almost sighed from the absence of his hurt.

And then, for a second, I wanted to tell him everything that had happened and disregard all the warnings I had give Papa, but I resisted it. I felt that the truth would just destroy all his innocence and change who he was even more than England had.

"Let's just go back to sleep," I told him, bringing the blanket back up. Disregard previous promise of a snack time. "Everything will be better tomorrow. I'll even make you some pasta when we get up."

"Yay," he cried in happiness. "Siesta and pasta!" Then he cuddled back up and went to sleep.

I wrapped my arms around him. Poor Feli was in for a rough life, but I was in for one even worse. Yes, I had condemned myself to a life of pain, but it was all for Feli.

At least that is what I kept telling myself.

* * *

So as you guys already know, me and Feli didn't grow up in peace. Our peninsula was just too valuable for the other nations to leave alone. The land and location was beautiful, but I would have switched with Siberia if it meant I could keep Feli safe. Bastards, I really fuckin' love him.

But our peace ended much sooner that I hoped and even thought. There was no time to prepare and comfort Feli.

All the pain started the very next day.

We were rudely awoken by three masked strangers breaking into our house and stealing all our valuable possessions. We fought valiantly but we were overcome by their advantage in numbers and height...

…. chirp... chirp...

…... Okay, all lies. The three weren't exactly strangers and neither were they masked. They did break in but only explored until they happened upon the room where Feli and I were sleeping. We didn't fight because Feli was too terrified and his fear was incapacitating me.

Yeah, this is what really happened so listen up:

"So you're totally serious the whole Roman Empire is gone," said an extremely cheerful voice. "Like _poof_ – all gone. No more."

"Yes," said a voice that I took an immediate dislike to. It sounded like the speaker had pasta stuffed up his ass. "The Roman Empire has dissolved which means the heir to his lands must be within his house. Isn't that how I found one of you."

"No, silly willy aristocrat. That is just what Prussia said about France after poor Mama Gaul was taken."

"Well, I have done my done my research; I do not need to rely on that over-aged brat."

"But amigo, what does a child have to do with anything?"

"We are going to capture the child and raise him," said a third, much younger voice. "That way, we gain the Italian Peninsula."

The whole thing about capturing Feli and taking him away raised my little hackles. Who in the world were they, and what were they thinking? They couldn't possibly raise him better than I could.

Something told me the trio of mysterious strangers wouldn't listen to my wonderful logic. So I cautiously sat up in bed and looked around for a place to hide.

After ruling out the closet and under the bed because the spaces were too tiny, I remembered that we were tinier. I hate to say but my moment of forgetfulness – woah, that's a weird word – cost me and Feli our freedom.

Because just as I was shaking him awake to pile him into the closet …. creaking hinges … and nearby footsteps stopping. Panicking, I threw the covers over his head to perhaps shield him from view.

The door opened and the three strangers walked in. As I said, they weren't really strangers because I slightly remembered them from when Papa would tell Feli about the other countries that were rising to power.

The really happy brown haired one I assumed was either Spain or France. The strict one was subject for confusion; he could have been Germany, Switzerland, Austria, or Czechoslovakia. The really young one had to be the Holy Roman Empire; he was the only country Papa had ever described as being young – well, besides the two of us now.

"There he is," shouted the young one. "Hello, Italian Peninsula! I'm the Holy Roman Empire" - I guessed correctly- "and since your Vater is no more, you can come live with me, Austria, and Hungary."

That is when Feli decided to peak his little head above the covers and throw aside the only protection I was able to provide him. "Romano," he squeaked, grasping onto my arm, "who are these people? Where is Papa?"

Before I could think of an answer that would calm the overwhelming confusion and fear that I was feeling for him, the happy-go-lucky country spoke.

"How cute! There's two of them. Now we can share! Yay!"

I could see an argument brewing, so I decided to make my stand before it was too late. Even standing up on the bed, I barely reached their shoulders. But I had to try for Feli's sake. These guys wouldn't understand everything that he needed.

"Bastards, listen up. You can't just come barging into my Papa's house and pretend to control us. Me and my fratello control this Peninsula, and we'll fight for it. Don't think you can take this land easily. Come on, Feli. We have to get these intruders out of our house."

Of course, Mister Happy whips out a sword. The cold-blooded bastard aims it at Feli like he knows that threatening him would be more effective than threatening me.

"You are too cute to be talking like that. How did a baby like yourself learn language like that?" He might be focusing his weapon on my fratello, but his words were directed at me.

Gulp... deep breathes... deep fuckin' breaths. I'm the master of the house. Gotta analyze the situation to gain an upper hand somehow.

Mister Proper seemed perfectly fine to let Mister Happy do all the talking – which I thought was a stupid decision. I was far older – and wiser - than Mister Happy, and there was no way he was going to out talk me. I had been out talking my Papa since I was actually six.

"I'm far older than you think. If you don't pull that sword away from Feli, I'll show you what years of experience have taught me. The magic bastard cursed me right after Papa vanished. So there."

Maybe I should have called Mister Happy, Mister Not-Intelligent instead. It sure fit him better.

He didn't even try to retaliate against that super verbal attack. Instead, he turned to Mister Proper and said, "I want that talky one. He's so cute."

At that moment, Feli looked comfortable having a sword pointing at his neck, but I still could feel the waves of fear and nervousness rolling off him. The whole sensation was overwhelming, and my head felt like it was about to explode.

There was silence for about a second, but it seemed to spread out forever. Every pounding throb of my head and heart seemed to be minutes – even hours- long.

"Fine!" I screamed, balling my little fists. "Take me but get that fuckin' sword away from my fratello."

I'm pleased to say Mister Happy did take the sword away. Unfortunately when his sword went into his scabbard, I went into his now open arms. "Yay! I get a little Romano. That is what your brother called you, right? Romano."

Pound. Pound. Thump. Thump. Beat... beat... beat. I couldn't think, and I couldn't even hold up my tiny and ineffective resistance.

"Yes," I spat out, hating myself for giving up that easily. "But you two," I said, pointing to Holy Roman Empire and Mister Proper, "if you ever mistreat my fratello, I'll know. Believe me about that one. I … will... know."

"We don't need to listen to you," said Mister Proper, looking all high and mighty. "I'm the Austrian- Hungarian Empire, and this is the Holy Roman Empire."

"I'm," I stopped as soon as I started when I realized I was nothing. I was just the extra child of a dead nation on the run (Papa wasn't dead because I just couldn't deal with that yet). All I really did was suffer Feli's pain. "I'm South Italy."

So, that's how I gained my fake identity as the southern portion of the Italian Peninsula. I thought it was pretty intelligent for extremely quick thinking. Then it would make sense why I would suffer when Feli was supposed to suffer.

"I don't care wh-" started Mister Proper also know as the Austrian-Hungarian Empire.

"He loves to eat pasta and eats it once or twice or thrice (cool word) a day. He's needs a siesta in the middle of the day or he gets cranky. Get him art supplies; he loves painting and drawing and sketching. He also loves clothes so get him something comfortable to wear."

Before Austria could interrupt, Mister Younger spoke. "I think we can do that for you, South Italy. Your sister will be safe with us. We'll make sure to get her some proper clothes first thing."

Before I could tell them fratello _did not _mean sister, they took him away. It was just like that, and he was gone. I could still feel his hurt and confusion in my mind, but there was no pain. What confused me – at least I assumed this confusion belonged to me – was that Feli seemed almost happy.

Maybe he didn't want to be in this house without Papa. Maybe it brought back to many memories his brain couldn't explain to him. Maybe he would be happier with _the Austrian-Hungarian Empire and the Holy Roman Empire_ than just plain old me. That is just what I would have to think.

And then just as Feli had been taken away, I was taken away too.

* * *

Our ride started off as the silent game with me reigning supreme. I felt like if I opened my mouth a never ending scream would pour out, my soul would follow, and I'd crumble into a pile of ashes.

So my voice wasn't heard. It wouldn't have been heard anyway because _someone _didn't sense the tenseness of the situation. I'll give you one guess who: Mister Happy.

"You can stay in this room, cutie," said Mister Happy who I came to learn was Spain. The whole way to his house, he kept telling me about his life. I could probably write a manuscript on his life except no one would want to buy it.

I have to admit though, his voice was soothing. The more he told me about Austria and Holy – because Holy Roman Empire was just too long to say – the more I felt confident about leaving Feli with them. Hungary, the woman that apparently lived with them, seemed like a good mother figure for him.

That is really what I had to tell myself if I didn't want to go bat-hit crazy soon.

Spain's house wasn't as impressive as Papa's had been. It looked like someone had repaired a great mansion but missed the minor details that just made it complete; railings on the stairs were crooked and the shuttered needed to be repainted (and a lot of other things). I wanted to tell him this, but he was my boss and insisted that I called him Boss Spain.

Of course, it was in that train of thought that I developed my second most ingenious thought of my life right after becoming South Italy. If I showed that I wasn't as young and innocent as he thought I was – which I wasn't because of England's spell-curse-thingy - he wouldn't want me anymore.

He smiled at every room he showed me despite the insults I was expertly flinging at him. I likened the smell of his kitchens to the Colosseum after a week of lion and gladiator fights, and he patted me on the head and told me that he would never take someone my age to bullfights.

That is the same result I got each time. Nothing seemed to phase him, and there was only one room left to go on the tour – my bedroom.

"This room looks worse than the stables at my house. Did you raise pigs in here, you bastard?" I snapped at him.

"Ah, Lovi," he said because he somehow discovered my human name. Don't ask me how he did that because I still have no clue. Must have slipped out of someone's mouth when I wasn't listening. "You are too young to know words like that. My name isn't Bastard; it's Boss Spain."

"Whatever," I told him, kicking him in the shin as I disappeared into my room that didn't really look as bad as a pigsty. Observe his reaction to physical violence …. nothing but cheerfulness. Damn!

"You can get settled in then start cleaning up the kitchen," he told me, running his fingers through my hair. "I have the most adorable outfit for you. It's green so it will match your eyes and" - shaking my brown locks - "hair."

And of course in the process, the …. the ….. the bastard touched that one hair that was the connection between me and Feli. I might have been in the body of a six year old, but I still had the hormones of my teenage self. So of course, when a blush rose to my face because it felt oh so good, it wasn't my fault.

When he laughed and pulled at it again, it just destroyed any positive thoughts I had of this guy. What in the world was he thinking, pulling on my hair like that? How was calling me a tomato going to make the situation better?

Was this how Feli was being treated? I couldn't feel anything but maybe the bond only worked at close distances. Was everything Spain told me a lie? I wouldn't doubt it because Papa told me to never trust a smiling face. Personal experience he said.

If this was what Austria was secretly like, Feli was in danger. I doubted his ability to hold back the feelings and urges that were coursing through my blood. I hated to doubt him, but you have to look at the truth of a situation.

And the truth was bleak. Neither of us could stand to be treated so badly and disrespectfully by those who refused to take us seriously. Our honor as Italians wouldn't stand for it. (We _do _have honor; I can sense your disbelief.)

Within the week, I'd escape to rescue Feli from Austria and Holy. We'd live on our own land and be free. No one would rule over us again, and we'd become just as powerful as Papa had been except we'd never fall.

There we go. Life was better when you have a plan. Even if you have a boss who is lacking in intelligence and a piece of hair that makes you as red as a tomato. Even then.

* * *

Here we go. Take a big gulp of air. Breathe.

You still wet your bed. That's interesting.

Well, I guess since you're telling all your deep dark secrets, I might as well tell mine: I'm the biggest coward you will ever meet possibly besides my own brother. (Maybe I've already told you that.) I just couldn't gather the nerves to leave Spain's house.

If felt like I was trapped in a time bubble where all I could feel was the changing of the seasons . Life seemed languid and … oozy.

There were times when I would suddenly perk up with happiness and actually play around with Spain. I couldn't fool myself into thinking I was really happy because I knew it was Feli's lack of any negative emotion to wear me down that made me so giddy.

Maybe that's why I never left; Feli felt happy in his new home. His memories of Papa seemed to have vanished with England's spell or he just no longer felt them for I absorbed those painful thoughts. Whatever it was, I was content because Feli was content.

But I still harbored the thoughts of freedom – even if it was going to be a solitary freedom. Even as I still dreamed of freedom though, I found myself enjoying the company of the idiot who kept insisting I call him Boss Spain.

Maybe it's because I needed someone to insult, and he would just take them. I think Spain really liked me but sometimes I wasn't sure. He always enjoyed me better when Feli's overly cheerful personality seemed to slip through.

It was after my borrowed happiness that I'd become more snappy and insulting. Every time, Spain would think something was wrong, and he would try to comfort me. And it worked (but you can't tell anyone even on the pain of death).

We became familiar with each others quirks and behaviors. Spain loved to bake in the middle of the night and renovate old objects – swords, furniture, and even his old house. Like I knew him, he knew me.

That's how the two of us fell into a semblance of a routine. He'd put me to work which, even after many years, I still had a tough time doing. England's spell didn't allow me to grow, and my muscles stayed puny and nonexistent.

That's how the day would start, and it would always end with him doing all the work and me eating – hoping, just hoping that maybe I would start to grow or England's spell would wear away.

But it never happened, and we were stuck in this routine until that one day that spiced everything up. It was a day I still had mixed feelings for because I couldn't decide if I liked how it ended or hated the result.

Nothing would have happened if Spain had believed me all the times I told him about England's curse and Papa. But he didn't, stupid bastard.

* * *

I woke up one morning to this excruciating pain throbbing in my head. I swear my forehead had its own heartbeat it hurt so bad. Biggest surprise – it didn't blow up and splatter all over the room.

It took me a while – much longer than I'd like to admit – for me to realize that it was Feli's pain I was feeling. For my credit, it had been a long while since I'd felt anything at all through my bond.

However, when I understood the source of the nearly unbearable ('not bearable' is probably better word choice, but I'd hate to scare my more fragile reading bastards) pain, I acted quickly. I barreled down the hallway right into _Boss_ Spain's room.

He was the only person in the house besides me (remember the position of servant was filled by me). Hence he might not be useful, but he was the only 'person' I could turn to.

Just as I walked into his bedroom, I made a quick move to walk out. I wasn't going to stay in there with him in his current condition:

Naked on top of his blankets covered in his own cum.

I'd like y'all to remember that I might look young and innocent at this time, but there is no way I am. Papa didn't lack on _any_ aspect of our education. You know what that means bastards – get your heads in the gutter. You don't live with the original king of amore and remain pure. Things like that just don't happen.

I didn't want to know why Spain was all sexed out, so I did the most logical thing – left him in there and continued on my way.

I would be able to help my fratello better than anyone else would be able to. I shouldn't have even gone to Spain in the first place; what was I thinking?

Grabbing my sword that I had smuggled into the house, I strapped it on my waist and headed out the door. The weather was beautiful – we're in fuckin' Spain (now get your heads out of the gutter you perverts)- so I didn't grab my jacket.

"Going to save fratello from Mister Proper and Mister Younger," I mumbled under my breath to give my self courage. Remind my throbbing head of the reasons we were leaving. Remember... biggest coward ever!

Walking through the woods that I knew separated our two houses, I made a wonderful observation: everything is a lot bigger when you're smaller. Even the berry bushes looked humongous. Some of the trees were just a tad terrifying – not that you need to know that.

The pain in my head soon spread to my other limbs as I assumed I was walking closer to the Austrian-Hungarian Empire and my fratello. Every little step hurt my calves, and I was really wishing I was able to develop muscles.

It was step, step, deeeeeep breath, step, step, minute break. It was tedious and depressing.

Taking another deep breath, I collapsed on a smooth rock on the edge of a lake in somewhat exhaustion. My reasoning: how could I help fratello if I was (somewhat) completely exhausted? I would be as useless as Spain if I couldn't stand or think straight.

I already couldn't think straight so there is one advantage missing. If I could walk, I could help Feli escape ….. somehow. My mind couldn't really think of anything that could be successful.

I honestly don't even know if I was thinking anything at all. Maybe I just thought of all this after the occasion while trying to explain this to myself. Sometimes you really never know – ** you** …. will … never …. ever …. know.

So away from this very serious topic of the inner workings of my troubled mind... did I mention I hated being a little kid because I really, really do. I fell asleep! I fuckin' fell asleep when my fratello needed me. I think I even had drool dribbling down my check.

…...

"Look at the cute little boy sleeping by my future lake. I want him for my own."

I bolted up realizing that I had fallen asleep, and I was no longer alone. The voice sounded eerily familiar as I probed both my memories and Feli's painful ones that transferred to me to discover whoever the speaker was.

"You little brat," sneered the voice that sounded like it was obscured by something. "Don't you know who I am? I am the - "

"Ottoman Empire."

I finished his sentence for him before the man walked out of the surrounding trees. I remembered the silky and swishy red outfit and the ominous white mask and black scarf-thing-a-ma-gig from when the young empire would meet with Papa.

Actually, now that I think of it, that might have been Feli's memory. I distinctively remember being shut in my room for ruining his last meaning – the one with England. Hey! Well, now that I think about it, that really explains my current situation.

"Oah! So you know who I am. I guess I don't have to explain my fearsome accomplishments to you." "Bastard, you have no idea who _you_ are messing with. I'm Southern Italy, and I've been through just as much trouble as you have."

"The Southern Italy I know is not a six year old. So, I don't know who you are trying to fool, but it isn't me, kid. I suggest you get your little butt over here, so I can take you to my house."

Just proved that he really had no clue of the truth about me. Because I wasn't really South Italy. But he did know that I was once much older which counted for something; what exactly, I didn't quite know or care to think much about.

"I was put under a curse by England, you oblivious bastard."

That seemed to change his whole opinion of me. England's reputation must have gotten around because he looked at me closer and closer and closer still. After a while, his stares kind of got on my nerves so I snapped.

"Look any more, and you'll have to pay."

"Ah," he sighed, picking up my chin and then grabbing the hair on my head. "This is something important in the spell."

More confessions: I moaned at his touch. Flames pulsed through my blood and once again, I could feel the intense beating of my poor overworked brain. People should really learn not to touch that thing. It's personal, thank you very much.

"Get your hand out of my hair. That's not the spell that made me younger."

"Hmm...I can reverse the spell that changed your age, you know."

That honestly snapped my little neck in his direction. I knew from Papa that England, one of the Nordics, and possibly one other nation (something that sounded like Rome) possessed magic. You'd think that I'd remember if the most powerful empire after Papa – now the most powerful nation - could do magic.

But I can't. But I believe him.

"Can you reverse this quickly?" I asked, looking around for … I don't really know. "I have to go help my fratello."

Silence.

"Sure, but on one condition; you and your brother live at my house."

I bet none of you have ever been offered this choice. This was probably the most difficult decision I've ever had to make – choosing to take Feli's pain had been easy. Do I take the benefit and subject my fratello to a new master and new customs, or do I deal with my curse and help Feli with his (temporary) pain?

Think about that. Seriously, think. Because what if Mister Proper all of a sudden became Mister Beat-the-hell-out-of-everyone. What if the two of us would be better off under the Ottoman Empire – together after all these years? If the Ottoman Empire was worse, would being together override it all?

Add that to my still throbbing head, and I thought I was going to explode into a puddle of molten glue. That might have actually been preferable to what happened next.

"Hola."

Spain walked up to the two of us in his ever oblivious matter. I guess he didn't see that we were in the middle of an important business deal. Silly _Boss_ Spain attempting a misguided rescue of me.

His silly manner seemed to disappear when he noticed there was a sword belted at both our waists. "Are you guys going to have a duel? Ottoman Empire, I'll have you know that South Italy is under my control, so you'll have to fight me."

"Maybe we can make a deal another day, Southern Italy."

With that, the Ottoman Empire drew his sword and advanced on Spain. "I'm sorry, but I'll have to fight you. I hate walking away from any nation without exchanging blows."

So, that's how their confrontation went. Well, not actually a duel but Turkey beating Spain to the shore of the lake and pushing him in. Pretty funny since I could just sit on my rock and watch as nations fought over me.

"Get back here, you Lovino stealer," called Spain, splashing about in the water. "Don't just walk away. You …. cobarde."

Very slowly, the Ottoman Empire walked away. His clothes billowed out behind him.

"Are you just going to leave? Coward! Is swinging your sword all you can do?"

If his previous actions hadn't already betrayed his intelligence, Spain was (well, he still is) a stupid bastard. Why was he egging the huge southern empire that could easily beat him to a bloody pulp? You think being shoved into a lake in about three seconds would prove how unevenly matched Spain was.

Well, even if Spain didn't, the Ottoman Empire knew better than to waste his time fighting someone as ….. ridiculous as Spain.

Gasp! How this will this turn out? Maybe you should fuckin' keep reading.

"No," the Ottoman Empire said without turning around. "I do a lot of _stuff _besides _swinging _sword. Most importantly I can make your life a living hell. Renuiog kilsiw nekilsiw ardadacarba nuiok oet sgnilbuoig gnotnitla kcibluhkoj viscao."

"What the heck?" Spain cried, trying to scramble out of the lake with some dignity. (You think: 'Spain even had dignity to begin with? Wow') After some stumbling, he rose to his full insignificant height and put his hands on his hips. "All I heard was a bunch of nonsense mumbling."

He might have said more, but I didn't notice much else because I collapsed on the ground in my own pain. The beating that had pounded dully in my head soon turned into a blistering firestorm that swallowed all my limbs.

In a single second, I forgot all about my worries about Feli's pain and safety. All I could think was that I didn't want to get up and face whatever the fuck had happened to me.

I'd never forgive myself if something happened to fratello, but Feli's pain seemed nonexistent in comparison to what I was feeling.

That was probably that last coherent thought I had before my mind was engulfed by the flames. That last feeling, however, was Spain picking me up in his arms and leaving his precious sword behind in favor of me.

* * *

"My little tomato is now a big tomato," cried Spain. He was ridiculously close to my face and his breath – which didn't smell _too _terrible – was hot on my face. "Why didn't you tell me about this? Trying to keep secrets from me?"

"Fuck you!"

I sat up in my bed with my hands on my hips and looked him dead in the eyes. I remained in that position as I waited for the room to stop spinning around me and things began to make a little more sense. The events of yesterday were a little (more like a lot) fuzzy, and I had a little difficulty in trying to piece together the chain of events.

Whatever had happened, Spain was accusing me of keeping secrets from him. The secret that immediately came to mind: me being under England's spell.

And now about that... How many times had I tried to tell him I was under a spell, and I wasn't actually a six year old but a sixteen year old? Let's think – a lot.

Wait a second, bastards. This is the beginning of my serious attempts to understand the world around me. How had Spain even discovered I was under a spell?

Hold on again, I was a "big" tomato now? Running my arms up and down my body, I felt my old figure – tall and skinny – had been returned to me. I really wasn't six anymore. The Ottoman Empire must have reversed the spell.

"My tomato shouldn't say words like that. The f-word is for really only for big nations to say."

"Well, I'm not a fuckin' tomato. I'm South Italy, and I deserve to be treated like a nation, you bastard."

"I'm not a bastard, I'm your boss."

His tone was darker and ….huskier than I was used to. Maybe he would turn into a vicious monster and eat me. (Yes, I honestly thought that.) But given his mental capacities, he was probably just plain confused.

I just growled like a monster and stared at him. Who was he to tell me what to do? Why continue to treat me like a child when he saw my true age? Maybe he was scared of me; Turkey had reversed the spell right after saying he could make Spain's life a living hell.

I only kind of wanted to know what was going through Spain's head, so I stopped pondering. Probably even thinking about what goes through his head would drain my intelligence. Is it contagious? (You don't have to worry about that while reading my thoughts. I'm the smartest Italian though that really doesn't say much.)

So because of our – _my –_ refusal to speak to him, we kind of sat there in a weird quietness until there was a knocking sound at the door. Thank god! Someone had come to save me from this awkward situation.

"Stay here," said Spain, shaking his finger at me. See, he was still treating me like a child. And anyway, how did he think I was going to get up? I might have my body back, but my muscles were still gone. If anything, I was weaker than before. Now I had a bigger body to support with a same puny muscles.

Let's add that to my list of adjectives: I am a coward and a weakling.

Now I was alone …...

Oh fuck! I hadn't made it to the Austrian-Hungarian Empire to check on my fratello. My breathing picked up as I imagined what might have befallen him. But wait, I didn't feel anything through out connection except … uncertainty.

"It's Austria and Hungary," said Spain,reappearing through the closed doors with the previously mentioned countries walking – no marching- behind him. That sight only confirmed my worst fears that something must have happened to Feli. I had failed in my task to protect my fratello from this world.

How could Papa have trusted me with such a huge task? It was like he was setting me up to fail. Did he want something like this to happen? Did that mother-fuckin' bastard want both of us to fail and suffer our asses of?

"Grrr...". Yes, I really did make that noise. Let Hell swallow both Spain and Austria for allowing something to befall Feli.

"They're here about Italy and the Roman Empire."

Duh, bastard. I …. I …. I was just livid. The pressure of keeping my fratello safe must of just been building up over the years, and I didn't know how to let it out. It was like a huge math problem that had no solution:

Lovi loves his fratello but hates pain. Lovi loves when his fratello is happy. His fratello is not happy when he has pain. Lovi must take the pain to make his fratello happy, but he doesn't like the pain either.

No fuckin' solution to this fuckin' situation that Papa got me fuckin' involved with in the first place! Dammit!

Now don't pay too much attention here, readers. I was in complete mental shock and having some sort of fit. Nothing made much sense in my head so nothing makes much sense when I write it. Remember – I'm ill, dizzy, confused, a coward, a weakling, and completely (as Spain would say) loco.

"Send 'em in here," I shouted. "I don't think I can stand, so you better not make me walk where ever you guys are, you bastard. I want to know what happened to my fratello."

"Lovi," I heard my brother cry out from somewhere downstairs – in joy, not grief. "Romano! Fratello! I've been bugging Mister Austria to let me see you, but he said no until now. I've had so much fun until Holy..."

Here he trailed off, and I could feel the onslaught of grief and just overall melancholy-ness. He must have loved the Holy Roman Empire and then, he must have left Feli all alone.

He would pay and

and

and

and my fratello was wearing a dress.

"Felicano! What the fuck are you wearing? Dresses are for girls!"

Okay, maybe I was a little harsh for the first time we've seen each other since Papa left. I could feel the hurt that I had caused him, and it killed me inside. But these past years, I had survived on saying the first thing that came to my mind; now it had betrayed me.

"Feli, Feli, Feli," I mumbled, beckoning him towards me. "I didn't mean to sound so mean. I missed you so much these past years. I'm so glad Austria found you clean clothes to wear. I'm so glad you don't look injured."

Apologizes were just spilling out of my mouth. I'm not going to repeat the more sissy ones to you because Feli was the only one who needed to hear them.

He tackled me onto my bed with a flying hug. "It's has been decades and centuries! And look at me- I've just hit puberty. I've been so wonderful. My life has been wonderful. Until …. Holy Rome left!"

With that, he started sobbing into my chest. His feelings were overwhelming, and tears started to flow down my checks too.

Everything was too much to hold in. It _is _manly to cry. It shows inner strength and self-confidence. And besides, I was crying for Feli; my fratello is more important than your stupid opinions.

I could feel how he was afraid of Holy Rome at first, but he had seen the softer inside. I could remember painting with him and swimming with him. Then I could remember him leaving and promising to return but never actually returning. I could remember – and feel- my heart breaking with every breath I took away from his side.

Gasping, I picked my head up from Feli's shoulder. Those were his memories, not my own. This connection was getting too much to handle at such close contact. My heart was breaking, and it wasn't mine or even Feli's fault – it was Papa's.

But he, well both of us, had been looking out for Feli's well being. That is really what it came down too. Maybe nobody was to blame. Fuck! This is far to complicated to think about when you've grown three feet instantly and just fell in and out of love. My world was spinning like a spazzed out dancing Spaniard.

Time to update all the adjectives that we have learned describe me: coward, weakling, nervous, confused, heart-broken, joyous, excited, conflicted, fuming, and just an over-all-mess.

Stupid Spain must have seen the pain etched way too clearly across my face – the first time he wasn't an oblivious bastard – and wrapped me up in his arms. Stupid fuckin' me didn't push him away either.

Even now, the only explanation (besides I had gone insane) I can think of for that action was Feli's thoughts of Holy Rome made me want someone to hold and love me. That someone just happened to be Spain.

Okay bastards, I'll admit to everything I've omitted from this story. Spain has always been there for me no matter the situation and no matter what I did to him. When Feli's emotions became too much and I would burst out crying; Spain would be there to rock me to sleep. He understood that I was strong and weak and hated to be seen as either.

We did had a very weird and awkward relationship boarding on romantic. It was because he was always happy, and I had the mood swings of a pregnant woman. I was also stuck as a six year old with the emotions of someone ten years older. You see where I'm going (probably not because I have a mixed up mind); we never _did _anything (bleh!), but it was ….. awkwardly strange.

Okay, reality check. The household of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire was here and it had something to do with Papa. Continue:

"They found your grandfather," said Spain, putting my head on his chest so I could feel his slow heartbeats vibrating my fuckin' ear off. Oh well, he was kinda comforting. "He's on trial as a dead nation tomorrow. Austria is here to take you and Felicano to see him before he's condemned.

More regrets and confusion and blank memories. I could feel Feli searching for forgotten images of Papa – images that only I still had because only I could _supposedly_ handle the pain of loss.

"I'll come with you," said Spain, putting me up onto his knee and cradling me even closer. "I'll always be by your side to protect you from big meanies. "

I could see his mouth form around the words "the Ottoman Empire" but I stopped him before he could even go down that road. If I had to deal with that idiot along with Feli's pain, I won't have survived to tell this story; I might had gone bat shit crazy and killed myself.

"No. You can't come."

Spain just couldn't come because he didn't know anything about me or my fratello. This was going to be just the Italians. It would be the last time we'd all be together as a family. I didn't really want my new family to mix with the old.

Oh fuck! Now I'm getting all sentimental - Keep the past in the past. You'd think Spain would have put me in a dress because of how much I act like a girl. It was time to man up.

And if you haven't realized this fact yet, life is unfair, and it sucks like a bitch.

* * *

"Here is Corridor 5 in Building 2. Just down there" -motioning down the hallway - "is Cell 8 were the former Roman Empire is being held. Would you like someone to escort you two down the hall, sir?"

"No."

"We will collect you once your hour is up. Have a good visit North Italy and South Italy."

With that, the two guards that had been assigned to give of a tour of the prison left me and Feli alone. Those bastards had been all protocol and rules – they must have recruited some German potato bastards to work for the Nation Police.

As much as I was glad that they were gone, it became really quiet all of the sudden. The darkness seemed to make everything worse. I might have been hallucinating a flickering light just to match the whole creepy image.

Our feet clinked past cells that had once held Gaul, Saxon, Ancient Egypt, Mother Greece, the Byzantine Empire, Persia, and Sumer. I really wasn't a person to pity anyone else because I had survived enough myself, but I felt myself doing tjust hat for France, Egypt, England – well, not England-, Greece, and even the Ottoman Empire. All those poor nations that walked along this hall before me and fratello to see their grandparents for an hour before they were sent away.

"Will Papa remember us," asked Feli, latching onto my arm as a rat scuttled in a nearby cell. I wanted to scream at the noise, but that would scare Feli even more. "I don't remember him very well, and I wish I did."

"Of course, he'll remember us," I lied because I honestly didn't know. What if England had some how magicked him too? "Papa loved both of us so much." I stopped speaking before I said how much more Papa loved him than me. No sense in ruining our last meeting with things that seemed childish now.

"My boys?" questioned a voice from the cell the guards had pointed to as Papa's. "It that my Lovi and Feli I hear? Please don't tell me my old ears are deceiving me. "

"Papa," called Feli. He ran out of my grip and charged to the cell Papa was sitting in. Silly bastard forgot that there are bars and door in prisons. He ran smack into both.

Cursing under my breath, my whole front side started to throbbing. Oah, why did Feli have to run into those bars? All I wanted to do was get ice and press it all over my chest and nose.

Papa was observing all of this as I fished for the keys I had been given earlier; the guards obviously saw who the trustworthy one was. He was looking at the two of us – and even after being apart for so long – I knew what he was thinking:

Is England's spell still working? Does Feli still feel no – well, extremely limited – pain? (Does Lovino still suffer?)

"Yes, Papa," I told him, hearing the lock clink and then drop away from the door. "Feli and I are both perfectly fine."

I'm not sure if Papa even heard my answer because Feli let out a screech and fell into Papa's arms. His rambling tends to drown out all other noises.

"Papa, I've missed you so much. I kept wishing on the stars to let you visit me, but they never answered until now. I've been living with Austria and Hungary and -" Here he chocked up before continuing in the same fast paced manner. " And the Holy Roman Empire. Lovi has been living with Spain, and we don't see each other much. I hit puberty a couple days ago and, look, I'm a teenager now!"

He probably would've continued in a similar manner for the whole hour if Papa hadn't spoken up. Thank god he did!

"You only _just _became a teena-"

Here I cut him off. Somehow I had unknowingly placed myself as protector of this family: head Italian Lovino Romano 'South Italy'. I didn't want Papa to suffer anymore than he probably had just knowing that he wasn't with us. Why make him worry about England's spell when he didn't have to?

You'd think I would have learned from my last self-sacrificing decision that I would always put myself first so I wouldn't suffer any more. As you can see, I'm rather thickheaded and stubborn and a bunch of other shitty traits that don't mix well with cowardice.

So, I was forced to swallow my anger and soft hatred and keep Papa in the dark. Like I was taking his pain too.

"Have you encountered anyone in your travels worth telling us about?"

That was a somewhat safe way to direct the conversation. There was no way for Feli to sneak any evidence of England's second spell into the dialogue – hopefully. It would also help Feli feel like Papa had only been on a trip to meet others and had finally returned to us, albeit briefly.

Notice once again how clever I was there. Keep all the knowledge to myself so only I have to suffer. Bastards, this is how I'm a hero but no one but you will ever know. Us Italians will always be seen as the first to surrender. And that is how I hope it remains – to avoid unneeded pain.

"Oah," laughed Papa while waving his hands about, "I ran into Germania a couple times. Turns out his time is almost done too. His unfortunate grandchildren, all four of them plus poor Holy Rome who's having a real hard time."

Not a good thing to say. Way to go Papa. Feli started to get shaky and tears were beginning to form in my eyes. I put my arms around Feli's shoulder and motioned for Papa to continue. Nothing like endless chatter to clear someone's mind; I learned that fact from listening (or not listening) to Spain ramble.

"Once I ran into a country who called himself Russia. He was a pitiful little guy when I meet him, but according to both Polish and Lithuanian warriors he's on the rise. Watch out for him, you guys. He's going to be a dangerous enemy or ally one day. Probably sooner rather than later."

"I won't need any new allies," said Feli, "I have my fratello to take care of me. He can protect me better than any ally I'll ever have." With that he threw my arms around my shoulders and gave me a big hug.

''He'll always be there for you," said Papa, moving beside us. The three us of just sat there holding each other. Here comes Sentimental Lovino again; it was the last time the three of us were ever together. And it ended too soon.

* * *

The nations had learned to leave me alone after I completely cussed France out after the trail/execution. Feli's grief was already clogging all my senses and feelings, and his comment did not sound right. He probably deserved all those curses I sent to him.

So, I guess it was all my fault that I was issued a house arrest right after Papa was ….. was ... we're not going to mention it anymore. No more!

But I just couldn't be blamed for the vocal protesting that I gave. I was greatly provoked. They shouldn't have extended my isolation in Spain's house because of a couple measly f-bombs and other curses that shouldn't even be nicknamed.

I seem calm now, telling this in a controlled environment but I was a flaming brunette. Everything so was awful and unfair (I know I already told y'all that life is unfair, but I'm telling this story, so I can be a hypocrite).

I just didn't want my fratello stuck with Germany, the stupid potato eating bastard who had been given custody of 'North' Italy due to the current problems I guess existed in the Austrian-Hungarian Empire. There was one bastard who would not give Feli everything he needs.

Now you understand why I shouted all that nonsense while being dragged away by Spain. Maybe you sure hear it for yourself to really get a glimpse into my tormented mind. The poor recorder had to type it all out. Here we go (if you are under thirteen or Feli or Lilli, please skip the next paragraph):

So my last statement to all the countries of the world before my house arrest was, "Screw all you mother-fuckin' bastards! You don't give a shit about anyone who isn't yourself. I just need to protect Feli, and you're all making too big of a deal about all of this. Me and Feli are Italy, and we should live in Papa house, you controlling bastards! Fuck off all of you!"

* * *

So that is how I stayed for the next hundred or so years. I doubt you want to hear about my pitiful existence living in Spain's often empty house. The only relief I had was when he came home; that's how desperately desperate I was - the high points of my existence was when Spain was home.

As I grew to …. appreciate him more and more, I grew oblivious to the happenings of the world. I mean, I knew Feli was having a rough time. I could constantly feel his confusion and fear and just plain nerves. It never really occurred to me that while I felt all his negative emotions, he still possessed all his positive ones. I might be the smartest person in the entire country of Spain, but I can still make stupid mistakes.

After several unsuccessful breakouts, I just stopped trying and concentrated on taking as much pain from him as possible – after my bite wounds from the hounds healed. Some days I couldn't even get out of bed, and I hated and loved Papa in the same thought.

But there was someone I hated a lot more. It's kinda obvious if you aren't Spain.

I, of course, hated and blamed the potato bastard for all of Feli's problems. I came up that name – potato bastard. Do you like it? You don't really have a choice; you must love it.

Now imagine this situation:

I was in the middle of seriously contemplating what I was going to do to the potato bastard for messing up my fratello. He was the only factor that had changed in Feli's life besides my banishment and other stuff and shit. My ingenious conclusion was at the tip of my brain when silly Spain interrupted me.

He was crying and laughing and hiccuping while holding a bottle of fancy Italian wine. I was surprised that he hadn't taken to wearing dresses too. So when his blubbering self could form a complete sentence, I wasn't really surprised at what he was saying.

"Lovino! Your house arrest is over, but I really hope you don't leave too soon. I've kind of grown used to your company over the years. I think I might love you maybe."

Yes, one of the former powers of the world just (sorta) confessed his love for me. I honestly didn't notice because I was too concentrated on the fact that I could leave this house and visit my fratello after so long.

"See you, bastard. I'll be back after I visit my fratello."

"You probablablablably should know there has been a whole war while -"

I slammed the door in his face. With my gun – the newest technology my source had reassured me- I was more than ready for whatever came my way. The world might have changed, but I was a strong as ever. (Do you remember that I'm such a coward?)

* * *

So Germany kept avoiding my attempts to kill him. His Papa obviously hadn't taught him any manners. The potato bastard swore he was just protecting fratello, but I was the only one who could do that. He was a fuckin' liar. And so, I hated him.

He was even immune to the infamous mustache trap. That was the super Italian attack that had always worked in the past. How did you think Papa captured most of the Mediterranean? Swords and armies? Don't joke with me bastards, it was mustaches.

The failure of that magnificent little trick is how I ended up tied in his basement. Should have been the other way around, but Germany **is not **a coward.

"Who are you?"

I had forgotten that it was his Papa who had controlled his land when the Italians ruled the world. He had also been a young boy throughout Spain's rule and the controversy of the Vargas twins with the Austrian-Hungarian Empire. He didn't know about me.

Then it hit me - hard. Had Feli not told his _friend_ all about me? I preferred to be a mysterious killer, but Feli hadn't even mentioned his wonderful older fratello. It hurt in ways I hadn't steeled myself against. Mental pain stabs in different places than physical pain; it was different and more poisonous.

"I'm Romano. South Italy. Lovino Vargas. Feli's older brother."

"Why do you keep trying to kill me? What have I ever done to you?"

Time for the truth to be spoken. So, I found myself telling him the whole story of my life. Of everything that had happened to me since Papa had disappeared and even the two spells England had placed upon me ... upon us. Of Turkey's magic which had reversed everything. Of my deep thoughts I had harbored while being stuck in Spain's house. I told that potato bastard everything.

He needed to know, so he would give Feli back to me. If he understood all my motives, there was no plausible way for him to refuse me. Also, cursing my fuc... opps... freakin' head off hadn't worked last time, so a different approach was sure to work.

But he didn't immediately call Feli down to return him to me like I had expected. Instead, he gave me his life story which sounded too much like mine. All pain and loss with little joy to be had.

He told me about how he had shown up on the porch of the Germanic's house- bloody, beaten, and having no memories of his past. How Germania, who had been like a father in such a short period of time, was forced to flee. How Switzerland had left around the same time. How he had been forced to grow up and supply for himself while Prussia – the only remaining Germanic- was off at war with Austria who had pulled away from the family. And finally how Feli had come into his life and brought light with him.

And that bastard had me feeling bad for him. We had both been torn away from those we loved, but he had used the opportunity to grow stronger while I …. collapsed like the coward I am. And he found a reason to keep going in my fratello.

After much inner struggle, I looked right into his blue eyes. "You are the only person who knows the truth about me. You must know that everything they say about me is untrue. But don't let anyone ever tell you that I don't care for my fratello. I think you'll care for him as well as I tried to. Just untie me, and I'll leave the two of you alone."

"Danke. Ich werde."

With that, he unbound my wrists and I found I couldn't look back into his eyes. As soon as I was free, I made my way to the door. The sun had set; I would leave my fratello under the cover of darkness. A compressed cry chocked me.

"Herr Lovino," called the potato bastard – no, Germany. "Me and Feli would love if you'd come visit us. Maybe you could come over for Christmas diner."

"I'd – I'd like that, bastard."

* * *

That isn't the end, but then again, the tale of the Nations never ends. That was just a good place to stop because it was the beginning of a new era in the lives of the Italian twins.

So, did you learn everything you wanted to? You better have because that's all I'm telling you.

Feli's happy with Germany (maybe I'll start to call him Ludwig). I'm happy with Spain ( as happy you can be with a happy-go-lucky idiot with no common sense. Which is surprisingly, very happy).

Maybe what Germany found in Feli, I found in Spain. A … soulmate who can make us forget all the trials we had to go through. That's kind of a sweet thought coming from me.

And as much as I hate to admit it, I'm glad I confided in Germany. He has done a great job of protecting Feli for it is rare that the pain I feel isn't my own. Maybe the two of us can keep up the lies and 'North' Italy will never suffer.

There we go reading bastards. Everything you thought you knew about me (except the good stuff) has hopefully proved... **Untrue.**

* * *

**Congrats for finishing this 14,000+ one-shot. If you just skipped to the bottom, Lovino will never forgive you so don't bother trying to visit Italy.**

**So, it shouldn't take much more of your time to leave a little review with your opinion. **

**Next, I'm going to work on Ukraine's adventures after she leaves Belarus in _Unveiled_, which you should read if you enjoyed this.**

**Remember, review!**

**~Scar**


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